Sentenced
by NoelleLaBelle
Summary: One small mistake ruined it all. It destroyed months of training, years of planning. Is it really possible for one person be healed after so much pain and torment? After being imprisoned?
1. Prologue: Imprisonment

_Why the hell am I starting a new story? Because I made the mistake of mentioning an idea to The Strange Angels Muse, and she forced me to start writing...again._

_Short chapter, I know. Don't think this will be the length of them all though. Oh, no, no, no, this is only at this length because it's the prologue. _

_Also, I'm rating this M because I'm not sure as towhatintensity certain thingswill happen in this story, so I'm taking it safe from the beginning.Mmhmm, now then, get to reading and reviewing my little dearies!_

* * *

"_You are sentenced to five years for extortion, threats upon numerous individuals, and the destruction and theft of countless properties of the Opera Populaire. I also order that your 'home' be destroyed so that area may be put to a more proper use."_

Those words echoed in Erik's mind as he sat up against a wall, looking to the night sky through a small bar covered window of the La Conciergerie. For a week that small, cobweb covered window had served his only release from his cell, where the walls were stained with the blood of former aristocrats whose only crime was that of being wealthy.

"_Christine_..." Erik whispered brokenly, the name slipping past his lips like a prayer laced with pain. He stretched his legs out along his 'bed', a low sitting bench, folded his arms and shut his eyes in hopes that at least his dreams could grant him some short mercy.

This was all because of one mistake. One damn, _fucking_ mistake…

_Every bit of Erik was on fire with rage. Betrayal! He had shown her his world, his life, had proclaimed the extent of his love for her and she had betrayed him! The fear that was etched into her face at the sight of his was still fresh in his mind, and though he had calmed himself enough to return her to her quarters, all returned to him when he saw his mirror. The mirror he had uncovered that morning was still there, as it had been, and it was still mocking him, showing him all he was and all he ever would be. His chest heaved as he looked at it, the image reflecting was not what he had been the previous night. His eyes had turned red from having no sleep and crying that morning to his angel, the normal side of his face was worn, while his right side was still cold and hard as Erik refused to take off the glowing white mask. He would not look at the monster trying this very moment to be released._

_But his demons were strong, and he could not deny that even the logical side to him wanted vengeance. He would cause destruction, enough that the new opera would have to be put off for days, then La Carlotta would have a fit and his angel would sing, and after a new triumph, she would return to him with a thankful, _loving _face. She would return to him and accept his love._

_Yes, this would work Erik told himself. Thus, the pandemonium of the Phantom of the Operabegan. _

_First, came the costumes. Naturally, Carlotta's was first, her oversized gown made to fit only her would be found in a few hours, torn to shreds. Ubaldo wouldn't be pleased at all either when he would discover his lord's suit, ink splotches all over its backside, buttons cut off, and frills ripped. As for the ballet corps garden skirts and royal wear , those he left, they had worked hard under Mme. Giry and Erik had no want to cause her any distress. Erik was careful to place the dress that would fit Christine perfectly where it would be easy to find, but in no danger of being trampled by the hordes of workers who would no doubt run in to see the newest work of the Ghost._

_Speaking of the workers, it was time to have a bit of fun with the stagehands, maybe another dropped background? No, the Phantom did not make repeat performances, so what to use… _


	2. Only Human

_My apologies for taking so long on this, but I've had a very bad few past weeks. I'm being nagged by an administration member of my school, who was upset at me about my work, EVEN THOUGH I told her I did have other classes to work on and when I delivered it to her (it was a booklet I had to finish up, but there was no exact due date), she didn't have my next set of work even ordered for me. So then the next day when I asked her rather kindly if I could get my graded book back, she looked at me, smirked and said "You really have no reason to speak to me, seeing as how I gave you this Noevember of _last_ year, and I only had this for one night."_

_What the fudge did I do! Biatch!_

_Then I've been down because we had to cut down my favorite tree outside our house (it's been here as long I have…)_

_Ah, well, plenty of angst in this to release my bitter thoughts. I believe some of you have been curious as to the time frame in this. Let me note, this is not the night of Il Muto, as some may have thought, but is actually a few days prior. I'm taking liberties with some of the film here in time and such._

_Let's just say… some things were talked out more rather than sung as they showed._

_And for those of you who might say he would never do this, I think this person's quote pretty much sums it all up (and kudos to everyone who knows who said it!):_

"_I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being—forgive me—rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger." _

* * *

_Erik was hiding behind a curtain, observing some of the stage hands being hard at work._

It's a pity, really, that this is all for naught_ he thought to himself, for the plan had formed in his head to give Carlotta another scare (and this time maybe some true injury) by bringing down nearly everything upon her. Sandbags would fall, ropes would snap, and even the catwalks themselves would become dangerously loose._

"_Then all those fools will learn to listen to my commands. They will listen to how my Opera House should be run." Erik vocalized to no one but himself. This may have been a game before to him, but playing was done now. Now, he was a force not to be taken lightly and toyed with._

_He had written the letters that morning, threatened them with disaster, and he was, after all, a man of his word._

"_Francois! Be a good lad and bring me that extra rope down there," A voice from above barked._

_Erik needn't even look to know that it was Joseph Buquet up there. He'd heard his voice enough for years, whether he was in a drunken slur or frightening the ballet rats with his stories. The lascivious man was all trouble for Erik, countless times he'd been hunting him, trying to find his secret passages._

_Silently, Erik crept around to a side where he could climb the ropes unnoticed. If he was fast enough and timed it carefully, he could bring the blame onto Buquet and be rid of two nuisances that night. Monsieur Lefevre may have been forgiving but reprimanding of accidents in the area of the master stagehand, but the new ones, especially Monsieur Firmin, did not seem the types to be as understanding._

_Erik scaled one of the ropes easily, the upper strength of his arms well trained after years of doing this. When he first discovered the stage and how some of the younger men would show off to the ballerinas climbing with their hands alone, he was fascinated and would practice nearly every night in his young age until he too was powerful enough to do such an act._

_He had the appearance of a pitch black shadow, dark as a moonless night, his cloak billowing as he made his ascent. His pace slowed from a predator's launch to a cautious animal as he neared one of the walking planks. Buquet was still lurking somewhere up there, and now was not a time for reckless foolishness._

_Peeking over the side carefully, he spotted the shape of Buquet reaching his arm out to the other stage hand Francois._

"_That's a good man, needed one more rope to secure the swings for the young ballet girls. We can't have them falling and injuring their nice, limber bodies, now can we?" Joseph smirked to his younger assistant._

"_Truthfully," Francois started, "I'm fond of that golden blonde dancer, the young Giry, wouldn't mind having her a few nights to help keep me old bed warm," he laughed heartily alongside Buquet.._

_Erik seethed while watching the two lewd men. If the hot handed boy ever tried to touch his only mentor's daughter, it would be the death of him._

_He was silent as the two made their climb back down to the floor, then he flipped over onto the plank by him, taking a moment to breathe while lying on his back. The managers would be coming in at any moment with their notes, hopefully followed by Madame Giry's own note with his instructions._

"_This is ridiculous! There isn't a chance we shall give in to this!"_

_Ah, exactly on time._

_Erik turned over, amusedly watching Andre and Firmin, tailiing a very brilliantly coloured Carlotta down one of the aisles to the stage. They were pleading with her to stay, to sing for the performance in a few days._

"_La Carlotta, please, only you are the star for us!" Andre squeaked._

"_We would never think to put anyone else in your place!" Firmin continued._

"_You shall be the dazzling Countess of Il Muto, we promise you!"_

"_Beyond dazzling!"_

"_No singer shall ever have the glory that you will, the spotlight is meant for you alone!"_

"_Zat is enough!" Carlotta shrieked, turning on them, causing Andre to smack into Firmin's backside and fall backwards._

_She pointed to the stage. "I vill sing only if zat pompous orphan girl is kept silent!"_

_Erik's eyes became slits. The aged performer would definitely suffer this time._

_Firmin started at this, "Oh, yes, La Carlotta. We shall give Miss Daaé the role of the- the-"_

"_Pageboy!" Andre shouted, back on his feet, "We shall make her the pageboy. Is this fitting to you, Madame?"_

_Carlotta turned her head a moment, letting out a great sniffle before looking back at them, considering their offer. She put on a false smile to them, "It is what my managers want, so I shall do this,"_

_Andre clapped his hands together, "Excellent! If you could ready yourself for practice, that would be wonderful Madame"_

_Erik was standing now, watching as managers and diva went their own ways. It was time to ready everything. He turned to walk to the sandbags when his ears caught a single word._

"_Christine, please, I must know where she is,"_

_Erik whipped around. The Vicompte de Chagny was talking to a rather deterred Madame Giry._

"_Monsieur, she needs her rest, she has had a trying morning,"_

"_But where has she gone to outside the opera house? Please, I am an old friend of hers, surely she would not mind me visiting,"_

"_Monsieur, you should learn not to speak so loudly in a place like this," Madame Giry stomped her cane, dropping her voice, "you do not know who may hear you,"_

"_Are you trying to help this boy, Anne?" Erik whispered to himself. He watched as the Vicompte continued, as if not paying attention to her warning._

"_What of these notes as well, who is this angel of hers? Where is it that she hears him?"_

_Anne leaned against the wall, finally broken through by the endless, fatiguing questions. "He speaks to those in the chapel, but do not think he will be as willing to hear your pleas, monsieur… I have girls to tend to, please, let me to my work,"_

"_Yes, Madame, forgive me. I did not mean to tire you," he spoke sincerely._

_Erik's eyes were alight. He would rid himself of this problem right now. He watched the Vicompte walking hurriedly to the direction of the chapel._

_He ran his fingers over the Punjab lasso in his belt. There was enough to time to let the boy be the only one to see that the Angel of Music was really of an Angel of Death._

_He kept his eyes on the Vicompte, rushing along the boards to a faster exit than the ropes._

_Yet, it was at this moment that Erik made a human mistake. The Phantom did something most unexpected._

_He tripped._

_A tiny pile of rope caught his foot and brought the towering man down, his shoulder hitting the wood. Not even Erik's reflexes were enough as he fell over the side, biting his tongue to keep himself from shouting._

_It seemed a miracle when he was stopped immediately, a number of winding ropes held him suspended in the air, hanging him floors above the stage. The problem now was he was sprawled oddly in them, his arms and legs slipping through holes between them._

"_Who's up here!"_

_Erik lifted his head, Buquet had seen the boards shaking, and was now looking around wildly for whoever might be trespassing. Erik swallowed as he tried to calm his racing heart._

"_I know someone's here, and I'll find you,"_

_Buquet started prowling the catwalks. He was dangerously close to Erik, but his view was blocked by one of the wheels for the backdrops._

"_Joseph! We need you down here!" A voice shouted from the back of the stage._

_Buquet stopped, he was near the board where Erik had slipped and it had become loosened from the weight of Erik hitting it. He looked around once more before turning to leave._

_Erik held his breath as he watched him. _That's right, leave_ he said in his head. He tried to move one of his arms, only for his legs to sink even more, and the board by him wobbled._

_All became a flash to Erik as the plank tilted and dropped, careening to the floor. It splintered in half as it came in contact with the surface below him and he heard a yell._

"_What the hell!" Buquet shouted, running to where the plank had been. He stopped dead when his eyes fell upon Erik. "You!"_

_There was no escape, no flashes of smoke that could save him now. Erik could only look on as Buquet called the other stagehands, watching both men and ballet rats pile in at all the noise._

_Stagehand upon stagehand clambered up to where Buquet was, and everyone of them had the same reaction at the sight._

"_It's the ghost!"_

"_The Phantom! The Phantom is caught!"_

"_Boys, help me out here," Buquet instructed, pulling on some of the ropes, wrapping them even more and lifting Erik up._

_Erik shouted in fury as Buquet laughed at him "Oh, you gave us a chase, didn't you ghost? But we've caught you finally, monster. This is the end of it all for you!"_

_Erik jerked harder as the ropes became more tangled against him. He watched as numbers of stagehands began shouting and started pulling him up, while making sure the cords were tightened even more till an anguished cry left his throat from the crushing pain of it all._

_They slammed him onto the shaky wood, holding down his struggling body. He was as a fox under a pack of hounds, and they all wanted his blood._

_He couldn't move his arms or legs, the ropes now securely being tied to prevent him from so much as lifting his hand._

_The last image he saw while fighting, thrashing his head, was Madame Giry, staring, horrorstruck and eyes wide in fear. The last thing he felt was a hand tugging at his mask, and the last thing he heard would stay with him the rest of his now surely shortened life, it would never leave his mind._

"_It's hideous! Look at the monster, boys, it's just as I said, a freak that died before it was even born!"_

_The laughter around him was bringing tears to his eyes. They were all laughing at his struggles, laughing at his face._

_At his mistake._

Erik's body moved a bit unconsciously as his nightmare kept on in his mind.

"Wake up, you ugly monster!"

Erik's head jerked as he felt the uncomfortable blast of dirty water hit the side of his face and run down his shirt. He spat towards his dirt floor and turned his head the slightest to see one of the morning guards smiling maliciously at him.

"It's Sunday, brute, an' yo've got someone who actually wants 'ter see ya' mug."

The guard stepped aside, grunting, "Yo've got one 'our with him, only 'cause of that title of yours, _monsieur,"_

Erik still wouldn't turn to see who cared to actually talk to him but his curiosity was piqued and he was fighting hard to restrain his eyes.

A man of title? It couldn't be…

He could hear the rustling of robes, or perhaps it was a long coat. "I do believe It's my right to talk with this man as long as I want, and I shall as long as I please. You are dismissed now, I wish to speak to him alone,"

This was maddening, Erik had to look. Time was moving too slow as he waited to hear the guards footsteps echoing outside of the hall, then the open and shut of a door. He stood up from his bench, his muscles sore from both his position all night long and the tiny contractions of his body as he slept.

Erik turned to face this man, trying to ready himself for who he believed it to be, but one thought was running through his head.

Why? Why was _he_ coming to this place?

Erik put the palm of his hand over the right side of his face, his mask had been used as evidence that he was the white blur of a ghost everyone saw in the opera house, and then it was handed to the guards, who preferred to let Erik sit bare to anyone who passed his cage.

"There is no need to cover yourself, I do not care how you may look," The man spoke, standing in shadow. Erik examined what he could, the spare sunlight blazing through his window was preventing him from seeing anything beyond the shine in the man's eyes. For Erik, the light only blinded his vision, one of his many reasons for cursing it.

"Who are you?" Erik asked in a rasped voice.

"I am here to talk with you, about what you have done,"

"And do you intend to stay where I cannot see you? How _civilized_ you must be, monsieur. Did those swine send you to scorn me even more?" Erik growled. He paused as he watched the figure shift in his spot.

"I am not here to bother you, only to talk with you,"

Erik lunged at the bars of his cage, his face be damned, he was tired of all the games being played with him. He held the bars tightly, his face that of the wild creature it had become since his imprisonment. The shadow took a step back as Erik sneered, "You are already a bother to me,"

"I- I have some things for you, if you'll cooperate and stop roaring at me _like_ an animal,"

Erik's face was against the bars so hard he could feel the impressions being left in his skin. "I am a caged animal, monsieur, how would you like it for me to act? I was trained to listen to my owner, after all, so what would you like? Perhaps you shall make me dance like a bear?"

"You are no animal, now do behave as the human you are! I only want to help you!" The man hissed back.

"And how do you intend to do that?" Erik snarled.

"I have fresh food and water," he stated plainly.

Erik's shoulders slumped. He was very weak, the only things he was allowed to eat was stale soup and water he dared not even bring his lips to, no matter how parched he may be. He came to a decision.

Erik breathed deeply, the mad features on his face dissipating, "So, you wish to talk to me. Then do come forth, come take a closer look at the demon whom you wish to feed,"

The man stepped into the light, his clothing dark and a satchel at his side. "I do not care for demons, of that I can promise you."

Erik's eyes widened. He released his hold on the bars and stood back, staring until a smile played at his face. He bowed mockingly, "Oh, this is a most rich delight."


	3. Offerings

So many apologies. To make a very excruciating story short, I had school and life to take care of first before I could get back to my Phantom world. On that note, it was a week ago today that I got to see the Phantom on stage! The actor for Erik definitely broke my heart (even if he was a former Raoul...), but this was a definite push in getting my mind going again and even giving me fresh ideas. Anyway, you all probably want to read the story, so I'll quit rambling.

Not the longest, but that's what happens when you stop writing for months...

That and still getting over the shock of graduation. Meaning my time is open now so much more to writing!

Ahem, right, story. I'm done now, I swear.

* * *

Erik held a look of contempt at the younger man in front of him. He could be no more than thirty, but there were already patches of grey above his ears in his dark, dusty brown hair. He wore a long black robe, the only contrast was the tiny white collar tight around his neck and a grey satchel hanging over his right shoulder. Clutched in his left hand was a small, worn Bible, positioned close to his heart. 

"Well, _Father_," Erik began, "welcome, welcome, how may I be of service to you?"

A corner of the priest's mouth fell as he looked at Erik with pitying eyes, "Please, do not belittle me or my purpose of visiting you to-"

"And what purpose might that be? Have you come to save my damned soul? To preach to me of how the _Great_ Creator of this world only wishes the best for me? How He made me with a loving heart and the way my sins were paid for? Spare me the sermon, I know all that your church and God has to offer me, and I don't care for it."

"_Please_, I will ask this once of you or I will leave without one more thought about this place or the man it confines, be quiet and hear me out!"

Erik's chest swelled in anger and he felt a roar building in his throat, but eyeing the satchel by the man's waist stopped him. It had been so very long since he had had anything nurturing in his stomach…

"…All right."

The priest smiled slightly and walked closer, though cautiously, to the bars of Erik's cell. "I am Father Herne de Gaulle, and I am here on a mission of peace with you. Our church sends men out to help those that have come to such terrible predicaments in the world. I will not lie to you monsieur, there was no one who was really…willing, to visit you,"

"Then why did you decide to come, Monsieur de Gaulle?"

"I'm intrigued by you," Herne answered bluntly.

Erik's left brow rose and, tired of standing staring at this man, sat on the floor by his bars, his face turned so the right side could not be seen. "Are you now?" he asked wryly, "And just how does one such as myself intrigue you?"

Herne looked down at Erik a moment, then shocking the caged man, sat opposite him on the stone floor as well. Erik stared straight at the wall as he felt the priest's eyes looking over his profile, his breath held as he kept fighting within himself to not lash out again.

"What is your name?"

Erik chuckled darkly at the question, he lifted his head toward the ceiling and smiled, his eyes shut. "I am many things, monsieur: Opera Ghost, Phantom, Angel, Death's and the Devil's Child, I've heard 'What is that thing!' a number of times," He swallowed and looked back through the bars, "…Erik, it's Erik."

"That is all?"

"It was the only thing given to me freely, and not even by my own mother. No, I do not know my last half to my name…" Erik faded off sadly, his eyes returning to the floor as he laid against the wall.

Silence entered the corridor as free man and prisoner stared forward, lost in their thoughts. That was until, of course, that Erik's stomach decided to remind him that it had been empty for more than a week.

Erik lifted his head a bit to look at the priest, his pride thrown away for greater needs, "You said that you have food?"

"Yes," Herne said and reached into his satchel, pulling out a smaller bag and an animal skin flask. Erik's eyes flashed and he became aware at just how dry his throat and mouth felt when he saw Herne holding the flagon up to the bars. He snatched it greedily and tore off the stopper, guzzling the water. The cool liquid was a sweet, succulent nectar and it was a hard task to keep himself from draining the entire content in one moment. He was able to pull away though and licked the last remaining drops off his lips. He leaned his head back against the hard wall, holding the flask carefully to not spill one precious spot of water.

"Thank you," he mumbled, breathing unsteadily as he took another fast swig.

"It is no problem," Herne pulled out a fresh crust of bread and a wedge of cheese, murmuring something in a language that Erik could not understand before handing him the food.

Erik cocked his head from watching him mumble, "Are you… praying?" he asked him, tearing off a piece of the bread and chewing it slowly.

"In Latin, yes. Since you will not bless the food it is better than one of us does,"

Erik smirked at this man, this very strange priest. "You are a very amusing individual,"

"You would not be the first to tell me so," Herne glowered as Erik laughed at him. It was a good sensation to once again feel this way, and at the expense of someone so upright no less! And yet, Erik stopped as he continued eating and drinking, to laugh in a place such as this did not seem right.

"You did not answer me before, why is it that I intrigue you?"

"I want to know how you came to be,"

Erik smiled and replied sarcastically, "Monsieur, I would think how I 'came to be' would be something quite easy for any man to understand,"

"No!" Herne yelled a bit hotly, but his eyes were alight with excitement, "Underneath the Opera Populaire, how did you do it!"

Erik could have almost fallen over at the man's questioning. "You- you mean you came here because all you wanted to know was how I made my underground home?" This could not be so, this man was up to something else, he had to be.

Herne cleared his throat and calmed down, "My apologies, but I become a bit enthusiastic when it comes to how things work. The life of a priest and scientist you know," he smiled feebly.

"A scientist?" Erik was taken aback, but now he himself was intrigued, "I thought such things were not allowed in the church?"

"Well, I do not speak so openly about it in the congregation, but I have a number of chemicals and plants that I use for a number of things. In my private chambers I have Greek fire as opposed to oil, it's really quite useful."

_Now_ this man intrigued Erik. "Should I ever live to be free again, you must show me,"

Herne's face dropped, "You will be out of here some day, the Lord will see to it,"

Erik grimaced and turned to fully face Herne, "The day the Lord helps me from a place like this is the day I acknowledge His love for me, and believe me on this priest, He does not. No loving God creates something like me, creates something so dark,"

"A person is not created dark, it is by choice,"

"But is it not God who promises to take care of us, to protect us? He did no such thing for me since I was born,"

Erik watched as the priest put his head down in thought, it appeared that he had finally stumbled the man of faith. Sadly for the Phantom's cynical thoughts, Herne's eyes became alight again as he pulled out more food to give to Erik, this time a wrapped up piece of meat. Erik was confused when the priest kept it out of distance and instead asked him, "You would like this?"

"Yes, anything you have to give I would like," Erik answered suspiciously.

"Tell me your life and I'll continue this treatment as many days as I can, agreed?"

Erik was silent, searching Herne's face. This man was more insane than himself. But still…

"My life… for food and water?"

"And whatever else I find to bring, is it a bargain?" the priest enticed him with the meat.

Erik snatched the food from his hand before he had a moment to blink. Like a wild cat he ripped at the meat, savoring the flavour. "It is a bargain, where would you like me to start?"


	4. Suffering

_Fast update, blah blah blah, but I've been having insomnia the past few days so I had nothing else to get in my way._

_Just don't kill me for this chapter!_

* * *

The priest listened aptly as Erik told the beginning years of his life. From the sad start and the way his mother raised him, keeping him locked in his room until he learned how to pick the small knob, up to when he ran away to be found by a group of gypsies, lured in with the hopes that among such odd folk even he himself could find kindness in the heart of one person. 

"I was horribly mistaken on that notion," Erik sighed. He'd been telling this man every detail that he could muster for three- was it four hours?

"Monsieur, I dearly would love to know more," he stopped with a glare from Erik, "I mean, well, it _does_ fascinate the mind to hear such a tale from someone. But it grows late for me, and there are other things I must see to before the sun goes down,"

Erik turned to look at his window, already the sun casting a strange angled light into his cell. He stood up as the priest did, stretching his legs from being on the floor for so long.

"Might I ask when to expect your return?" Erik asked, handing him the skin flask he had finished draining half an hour ago.

Herne looked pensive a moment, staring at the floor, then finally looked up, "Normally the priests only go out Sundays, with the occasional trip during the week. Of course, since your case is a bit different, I would like to perhaps come in two days? If that is fitting to you, naturally,"

"I see nothing wrong in that,"

"Wonderful! I shall be back here on Tuesday then," Herne paused a moment, looking at the Bible in his hands, he then held the book out in front of the bars. Erik stared blankly at him as Herne stumbled a little on his words, "we are supposed to, that is, normally we would-"

"Give a Bible to the poor souls who are in need salvation, I suppose?" Erik finished the sentence. He did nothing for a moment, but seeing that the priest had no intent of moving until the book was out of his hands, groaned and snatched it away, "Fine, I'll take your 'book of hope' and the 'ways to the right path', but do not think I intend to read such pointless writings,"

"We shall see," Herne smiled, "I really must be off now monsieur-"

"Erik, damn it, you asked my name earlier, you can call me by it,"

"Err.. Yes, if that is what you would prefer, but I must ask you reciprocate and do the same for me,"

"If it pleases, the Opera Ghost was one of obedience… But that is for another day, leave now, I am beginning to find your presence a little too tiring,"

Erik watched as it seemed Herne wanted to respond to the bite in his words, but resisted, "Yes, good day to you, mons- my apologies, Erik."

"Good day to you, Herne." Erik replied with a curt nod of his head, and watched as far as he could as the priests robe swirled as he walked along. The familiar opening and shut of the door left him alone once again in his very dark and gloomy cell.

_A fool of a Frenchmen, yet an intelligent one_ Erik mused as he went to sit over on his bench. _At least by his Godly teachings he's bringing you food_ his mind retorted.

His head tilted as he once again sat down, and he found himself faced with the Bible in his hands. Such a useless thing, stories of faith and a God who in truth did not care for all His creations. But still…

Erik flipped open the book in simple curiosity, despite his words to Herne. After all, he did say he wouldn't read it, there was no foul if he merely _skimmed_ the inane scriptures. He flicked through a few pages, skipping sections at a time. It did not take long for him to understand how the book was broken down. He had once looked in a Bible when he was very young in his home, as he told Herne, and had soon enough found himself being whipped for touching something that was apparently a family treasure.

But this time, this time there were no repercussions for how he looked through the book. He glanced over a few stories, some so implausible he could have laughed at them were he not in prison. A donkey talking, a man being swallowed by a large fish, such ridiculous things these people of God had written.

He would pause every now and then between passages, but nothing was really of much interest to him, too many teachings were all talking about light and eradicating darkness from the world.

_Not all dark things have intentions of evil_ Erik thought bitterly. No, his intentions had been pure to the world. Had he not wanted to create a kingdom of music? To teach the world what he knew of the splendor that could be drawn forth from both the voice and instruments? Did he not design over a dozen buildings, all that would have even made the Shah's palace look like a toy house?

He threw the book over by his feet, watching with disinterest as it tumbled to the floor in shadow. It was just as well that it get tossed out of sight, the guards would no doubt pester him about having something Holy in the holding of a demon.

The sun was now falling fast, and soon comforting darkness would once again shroud his misery. Erik's ears pricked when he heard voices coming into the corridor- two, maybe three men.

"He's just down this way, hasn't eaten in a week, should serve some entertainment…"

Erik's heart started to beat a little faster, but he stayed in spot and shut his eyes, perhaps if they thought he was sleeping they'd find him less appealing. He heard the jingling of keys as another voice commented on him, "Ugly beast, isn't he? A temper to match too,"

The lock clicked and the door creaked, "Perhaps, but as I told you, he can't do much. Too weak to even try,"

Erik was scared. No, he was beyond scared, he was terrified. If his breathing didn't give away his real position, the small twitches in his face would. He heard the footsteps coming closer and closer to him.

_Stay calm _His mind told him repeatedly. But when he felt the first hard blow to his cheek, his instincts kicked in and he jumped to fight back.

He did not expect two other men to grab his arms and lock him in place of course, knocking him down to his knees so he was looking up at his assailant. Nor did he expect the kick following to his stomach. He coughed and gasped for air as his face fell, but a hand grasped his hair and jerked it back up to the sneering face of the guard, "We thought we'd give you a proper greeting to this place, monster,"

Erik's face contorted and he began to struggle and shout, "You damn bast-"

Another punch to his jaw stopped him as his onlooker smiled, "Be careful of your tongue, monster, we don't like rude names like that here," and he continued by kicking Erik again. This time the force was enough to churn Erik's stomach, and he gagged as he felt bile rise in his throat. It burned and he tried to swallow the acidic taste back down but was dealt with another hit. He couldn't stop it this time as his head dropped and he felt his stomach empty itself of what contents it had not yet digested.

Yet the men still held onto him and laughed as he vomited. Loathe as Erik was to admit, he was too weak to truly fight back, and there was only one other solution he could think of to end this sooner. As he did when he was kept in a cage as a boy, he closed his eyes and stopped struggling. The sooner he finished trying to defend himself, the faster they would be done.

He slumped over as they dropped him to the floor, his face inches from where he had just released what was inside him. The kicks of all three men now assaulted him. Into his stomach, his back, Erik curled up in a ball, hands over his head for little protection.

"What's the matter, monster? We heard you were something to fear! So why don't you fight!" he heard one shout, but still he did not move from his spot on the floor. Erik felt hot tears coming from his eyes and he scrunched them as tight as possible so they could not be seen. Tears and cries would only provoke them more.

The torturous beating went on another minute before they suddenly stopped. Erik trembled, but did nothing more. He felt one spit on him before the door creaked open and then shut and locked. He dared not move until he knew they were no longer in the corridor.

Shakily, he crawled across the floor, tripping once or twice on his injured arms, over to the where the Bible had fallen. He pulled it close, needing something to hold, as he cried. He fitted himself under the bench, trying to hide himself in whatever way possible, the little Bible grasped onto for life itself. Only one thought could leave his mind and come from his mouth as he quivered.

"Christine," he sobbed, "_Christine_…"


End file.
